Page 64 of Silver Claws, Crimson Tears
“Nice walk?” she whispers, her tone deliberately neutral but her eyes knowing.
“Fresh air does wonders,” I reply with forced casualness, avoiding her gaze.
She doesn’t press further, just watches me with that quiet, observant expression of hers. No judgment, just concern wrapped in understanding.
I strip down to my underclothes, acutely aware of how flushed my skin remains. The cool air raises goosebumps along my arms, but fails to extinguish the heat deep within my belly.
“Goodnight,” Phoebe says softly as she extinguishes her candle.
I slip under the covers, my body a riot of sensations. Sleep seems impossible with my blood still running hot, and my mind filled with promises of tomorrow night.
“Night,” I whisper back, staring into the darkness.
As I close my eyes, visions of amber eyes and stone tables battle with memories of Vaylen’s hands on my skin. I drift off eventually, burning from the inside out with both desire and awful foreboding.
22
Rhea
Ifall into a deep sleep, my body finally surrendering to exhaustion, and find myself somewhere else entirely.
Strong arms cradle me against a warm chest. I look up to see Tahranis carrying me effortlessly through a dimly lit cavern. His eyes gleam like molten gold in the flickering torchlight, reflecting hunger that should terrify me.
Instead, I feel... comfortable. Safe.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice sounding strange to my own ears, lighter, almost playful.
“Somewhere private.” His voice resonates deep in his chest where my cheek rests. “Somewhere worthy of you, Omneira.”
The name doesn’t jar me as it should. Now, it feels right, familiar.
Tahranis approaches an alcove where furs—rich and soft—are piled high on the ground. He lays me down with unexpected gentleness, the furs caressing my skin like a thousand feathers.
He looms above me, bare-chested and magnificent. His skin gleams like polished alabaster in the low light, muscles ripplingbeneath, smooth and free of tattoos—unlike Vaylen’s. His white hair, elaborately braided at the sides, falls forward as he braces himself above me, creating a curtain that shields us from the world.
“You’ve always been meant for me,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips.
My hands rise to touch his chest. His skin burns hot beneath my fingertips, like touching fire without being consumed.
“I know, Tahr,” I hear myself respond, the nickname rolling easily off my tongue. My lips curve into a smile that feels both foreign and utterly natural. “I think I’ve always known.”
He lowers himself, his weight pressing me into the furs. His teeth flash in a feral smile that sends electricity racing through my veins. Not fear… anticipation.
As his face descends toward mine, something shifts. The angular planes of his face shift, blur, reform. White hair darkens, braids unraveling into short brown locks with golden streaks.
Amber eyes flicker, fighting to maintain their hold before blue with yellow motes push through.
“No,” I whisper, confused by the transformation and my own reaction. “Wait?—”
But the dream won’t obey. Tahranis’s features continue their battle with Vaylen’s, neither fully taking control, both men somehow occupying the same space above me, fighting for dominance even as their lips descend toward mine.
I jolt upright, my scream tearing through the barracks.
“NO!”
My heart hammers against my ribs like it might break free. Sweat slicks my skin. The barracks stand empty, no curious faces peering from bunks, no Phoebe asking what’s wrong.
Sunlight floods through the windows, bright and insistent. I squint against the glare. How long have I slept? The angle of light suggests mid-morning, maybe later.
